


Keep It In the Family

by Seraphtrevs



Series: Only You [8]
Category: Better Call Saul (TV)
Genre: Barebacking, Drunken sex, Face Slapping, M/M, Multi, Rough Sex, Threesome - M/M/M, Twincest, bad choice road nacho style, fucking salamancas figuratively and literally
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:42:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23691799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seraphtrevs/pseuds/Seraphtrevs
Summary: Lalo nudged him with his foot. “Que pasa?”“Marco and Leonel are upstairs sucking each other’s dicks.”Lalo ate a spoonful of ice cream. “Yeah, they do that sometimes.”Nacho stared at him. “And you’re okay with that?”“Come on, Nacho—be sensible. Who else is going to fuck them? They’re terrifying! Don’t get me wrong, they’re good boys, but—” Lalo shivered. “Besides, it’s not like they can make any babies. So what’s the harm?"Did Nacho really have to explain incest was wrong? “The harm is that they’re brothers, and it’s creepy as shit to fuck your brother.”“Si, lo sé.” Lalo licked his spoon. “But they keep my business quiet, so I return the favor. Don’t be such a prude.”Nacho rubbed his face. You have Salamanca blood, Marco had said. Shit—had that been a come-on?The cousins come for a visit. Nacho makes a choice.
Relationships: Eduardo "Lalo" Salamanca/Ignacio "Nacho" Varga, Leonel Salamanca/Marco Salamanca/Ignacio "Nacho" Varga
Series: Only You [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1658944
Comments: 26
Kudos: 92





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Soooo this started out as a silly idea, but much like Nacho, it spiraled into darkness. This is going to be two chapters. 
> 
> Also, turns out there's a surprisingly high number of Garashir folks amongst the Nacho hive ranks (me included), so I couldn't help including a little shout-out.

Wednesdays were quiet.

Occasionally, there would be a disturbance—some skell causing trouble, a dealer getting picked up. But more often than not, the middle of the week was a welcome respite from the usual bullshit and insanity of life in the drug business. A day off. A year ago, he’d hang out with friends, or have dinner with his dad.

He spent Wednesdays with Lalo now. He spent all of his days with Lalo. Nights, too. Nacho still had his own house, but he’d sell it eventually. Move to Mexico. Assuming he survived that long. Either fate conjured the same response in him, a sort of queasy indifference. There were no turns on the road he was on—only a never-ending descent. Where that descent ended didn’t really matter, in the end. In a way, it was a relief, to let go of the hope that things would turn out okay.

This Wednesday found them curled up on the sofa in Lalo’s living room, watching TV. Well, Nacho was watching—Lalo didn’t even pretend to pay attention. They were watching _Star Trek: DS9_ , and Lalo frequently complained about how much sci-fi bored him. Nacho wondered why he even bothered to join him. Except, he knew why. Lalo enjoyed holding him.

Nacho liked it, too.

“I bet that alien guy has a spiny dick,” Lalo said.

Nacho rolled his eyes. “Is that literally all you think about? Dicks?”

“I think about asses sometimes, too.” Lalo nipped his ear and rolled his hips forward.

Nacho elbowed him lightly. “Quit it—I’m trying to watch.”

Lalo heaved a dramatic sigh. “But it’s so boring.”

“It wouldn’t be if you paid attention.”

Lalo was quiet for about five minutes. “I bet that guy in the blue knows what the alien’s dick looks like.”

“Doctor Bashir is not fucking Garak.”

“ _Now_ who’s not paying attention?”

Nacho sat up. “Look, if you don’t want to watch, then why don’t you find something else to do?”

“If you insist.” Predictably, Lalo slid to his knees in front of Nacho.

Nacho slid his hips forward as Lalo undid his fly. As far as pit stops on the road to hell went, getting his dick sucked while watching _Star Trek_ was not the worst.

Lalo took his time, which was fine with Nacho. The only time he didn’t feel like complete shit was when they were fucking. Lalo overwhelmed him, short-circuited his brain, so for a little while, he didn’t have to think about his fuck-ups and regrets, or the horrible reckoning that was coming. He could just feel good. Same as any skell, if he thought about it, which he tried to avoid doing.

After a few minutes, Nacho gave up on the show and shut his eyes, dissolving into Lalo’s hot, wet mouth. He ran his fingers through Lalo’s salt and pepper hair as his head bobbed, tugging on it lightly as he grew closer to orgasm. Pleasure rolled over him in waves, and he came with a sigh.

Lalo pulled off him, his gaze fixing on something over his shoulder, toward the front door. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and grinned. “Boys! You’re early!”

 _What?_ Nacho craned his neck around and nearly fell off the couch. Marco and Leonel Salamanca were standing at the edge of the living room. They were dressed in their usual well-cut sharkskin suits and their boots tipped with silver skulls, radiating nearly identical stone-faced menace. Where the fuck had they come from? How long had they been standing there? What had they seen? Their faces betrayed nothing, as usual.

Nacho wrestled his cock into his pants and grabbed a pillow to cover his crotch. Lalo got to his feet, seeming not at all disturbed by their presence. “I thought you weren’t getting in until tomorrow. You hungry?”

They inclined their heads in unison. Lalo headed for the kitchen. Nacho had no idea what to do. Run after Lalo? But that would mean abandoning his pillow. He’d just wait until his cock deflated. Shouldn’t be long—the cousins had a shriveling effect.

Leonel sat on the armchair while Marco sat on the couch beside Nacho. From experience, he knew any attempt at conversation would lead nowhere, so he turned back to the TV.

After several minutes of silence, Marco turned to Nacho and gave him an intense look. Then again, all of Marco’s looks were intense. “So you’re Lalo’s man now.”

Nacho blinked. _Lalo’s man_? That could be taken in a number of ways. He gave a vague nod—let Marco decide what it meant.

The situation in Nacho’s pants resolved. He handed the remote to Marco and headed for the kitchen, where Lalo was heating up leftovers, singing along to the radio as if he hadn’t a care in the world. “Ah, Ignacio! Will you set the table?”

Nacho folded his arms. “What the fuck are they doing here?”

“They’re on cartel business. Just passing through—I wasn’t expecting them until tomorrow.”

“How did they get in?”

“With their keys, of course.” Lalo put a plate of enchiladas in the microwave and pressed a few buttons.

“You gave them keys to your house?”

“This isn’t my house,” Lalo said with a shrug. “It’s a Salamanca house, here to be used by our family when we have business this side of the border. We share everything.”

Nacho clenched his fists. “So your family can just barge in, any time, and you’re fine with it?”

Lalo put both hands on Nacho’s tense shoulders and gave him a reassuring smile. “Nachito. Deep breaths. This is not a big deal. My cousins are just here for a visit.”

“But they saw—”

He cut off when Marco and Leonel entered the room. Lalo removed his hands and gestured to the cabinets. “The plates, _por favor_.”

Nacho dutifully set the table while Lalo finished getting dinner together. The cousins sat down, hands folded in front of them. Leonel’s gaze wandered, but Marco’s trained on Nacho. It wasn’t hostile. More…curious. Or maybe he was reading into things. The cousins had the emotional affect of alligators.

Except that wasn’t entirely true. Nacho had seen Marco angry. When the cousins had picked him up after he’d been shot and left in the desert, there had been real fire in his eyes. _Who did this?_ he’d growled as he examined Nacho’s wounds.

And then Nacho had lied. That was the plan—Fring’s plan. The whole attack was a set-up, to manipulate the Salamancas into eliminating the Espinosas. The cousins had exacted their revenge, killing at least two dozen people at the Espinosa compound in an orgy of violence that had shocked even Nacho. The cousins were the instrument, but his lie had killed those people. It didn't matter that he’d been forced into it, or else Fring would kill his papa and tell the Salamancas that Nacho was the one responsible for Don Hector’s stroke.

Don Hector. Lalo and the twins’ uncle. Who Nacho had nearly, but not quite, managed to kill.

Nacho needed a drink. He headed to the liquor cabinet.

“Excellent thinking, Ignacio!” Lalo clapped his hands. “How about some margaritas, yeah?”

Nacho made the drinks while Lalo got dinner on the table. He put an extra shot of tequila in his. Lalo was grinning from ear to ear. Maybe the cousins hadn’t seen anything and Nacho was being paranoid. Because surely if Lalo thought they had seen, he wouldn’t be acting this fucking chipper.

“It’s so good to see you boys,” Lalo said. “It seems like only yesterday you were little kids, running around, causing trouble.” He laughed. “Although I guess that much is still true! Just different kinds of trouble than pestering your mama, yeah?”

Leonel blinked slowly in Lalo’s direction. Marco’s attention, however, remained on Nacho. Was there softness there, or was he imagining things?

Lalo launched into fond reminiscing about his cousins’ childhood, which segued into questions about how things were with the Salamancas in Mexico. The twins’ answers barely counted as monosyllabic, but Lalo talked enough for all of them. All the while, Marco’s eyes stayed on Nacho. Nacho would meet his gaze occasionally, since he thought it would be suspicious if he constantly dodged it. His eyes were saying something. Nacho just didn’t know what.

Nacho had three margaritas and a beer. Lalo was two drinks ahead of him. The cousins drank too, but if it affected them at all, Nacho couldn’t tell. Lalo poured another drink, spilling some of the mixer. “Ah, _familia_. Is there anything more important?” His words slurred a little. He turned to Nacho. “What about your family, Nacho? Where are they?”

Nacho grew very still. “I don’t see them often.”

“No?” Lalo frowned. “Your dad has a shop here though, yeah? Upholstery, or something?”

Nacho’s grip on his drink tightened. “Yeah. But we aren’t close.” Not anymore, anyway.

"You had a falling out?”

Nacho finished his drink. “You could say that.”

“Over what?”

Nacho glared at him. “What do you think?”

"And your mama?"

"She died when I was a kid."

Tears shone in Lalo's eyes. "No brothers, sisters?"

Nacho shook his head.

"No family at all?" His voice quivered as he wiped his eyes. “No no no, this will not do! You must have family! Family is everything!" He slung an arm over Nacho's shoulder. "Don't you worry - we will fix things with your papa, I swear it.”

Nacho’s stomach roiled. Of course Lalo would get the same idea as Hector, to bring his dad into the game. It was only a matter of time, wasn’t it? How had he thought getting rid of Hector would solve this? You cut down one Salamanca and two more sprang up, like monsters from some myth, and there were three of them here now and they’d rip him to pieces if they knew, he was so fucking _stupid_ —

Nacho shrugged out of Lalo’s grasp. “How about some music?”

Lalo brightened. “Yes, music! Good idea!” He got up and weaved his way toward the living room.

While Lalo was preoccupied, Nacho escaped to the patio. The cool night air sobered him a little, but not much. He rubbed his face. Christ. That last drink had been a bad idea. He had to keep it together.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He spun around, expecting Lalo, but it was Marco.

Nacho froze under his gaze—so intense, filled with something that Nacho didn’t understand. Marco reached out slowly and brushed his shoulder where the bullet remained inside him.

“Still hurt?” Marco asked lowly.

Nacho’s tongue felt thick in his mouth. He shook his head.

Marco’s hand moved lower, to the scar on his flank—the shot that would have ended his life if Marco and Leonel hadn’t come for him. “And here?”

“No.” His voice was no more than a whisper.

Marco’s touch lingered. “You have Salamanca blood now,” he said.

It was true. Marco’s blood saved his life when he was operated on in that filthy garage. Marco was one of the first things he saw as he regained consciousness, the IV still in his arm. Salamanca blood, pouring into his veins, bringing him back to life—

Before Nacho could think of a response, the door flew open and music poured out into the night. Lalo danced onto the patio, singing at the top of his lungs, followed by a silent and somber Leonel. Lalo swooped Nacho into a drunken jig.

Nacho pushed him off. “You’re drunk.”

Lalo pinched his finger and thumb together. “ _Solo un poco_. But you are too, eh Nachito?” He made to cuddle up to him, but Nacho ducked back into the house. Lalo could intimidate underlings into ignoring any funny business between the two of them, but these were his cousins. What the fuck was wrong with him?

Nacho stumbled around the house, hunting for his keys. Probably a bad idea to drive, but it felt like an even worse one to stay here. Lalo and the brothers followed him inside.

“What are you doing?” Lalo asked.

“Going home. I’m tired.”

Lalo wagged a finger. “Uh-uh. You are too drive to drunk.” He tittered and stumbled a little. “No, you stay.”

The house had three bedrooms. Presumably Marco and Leonel would each take one, and Lalo had the third. And he couldn’t very well sleep in Lalo’s bed with the cousins still in the house. “I guess I can crash on the couch.”

Lalo’s brow furrowed. “The couch?”

Nacho tried to stare some sense into him. “Yeah. The couch. Since all the beds are taken.”

Lalo did one of his dismissive little waves. “Don’t be stupid—go lie down upstairs if you’re so tired.”

Nacho clenched his fists and marched upstairs. Fuck it—it was Lalo’s stupid family, and if he wanted to drunkenly out himself then that was his business. Nacho wasn’t sober enough to cover for him. Or maybe he planned on taking the couch if Nacho took the bed—

— _or maybe they know?_ He shook his head at the thought. That was crazy. The Salamancas didn't strike him as a progressive bunch.

He took a shower to try and sober up. It didn’t work. He put on a fresh pair of underwear and some sweats that he had lying around. More and more of his clothes had migrated over here because Nacho belonged to Lalo, or maybe they belonged to each other, and the Salamancas were coming for his dad, they’d kill his dad, and Lalo was a fucking Salamanca and Nacho was fucking a Salamanca and it was fucked up, so fucked up…

He collapsed onto the bed and shut his eyes.

He opened them again and sat up with a start. Had he slept? He blinked at the clock—it was midnight. His head still swam, but he wasn’t as drunk as he had been.

And he was alone. The music had shut off and he didn’t hear any talking downstairs, although the TV was on. Had Lalo crashed on the couch after all? And where were the cousins? Asleep too? He decided to find out.

He stepped into the hallway and made his way toward the stairs, passing one of the other bedrooms on the way. It was empty. Were Marco and Leonel sharing a room? But that didn’t make any sense. Why share a room when there were two beds? Had they left?

But no, the bedroom at the other end of the hall was cracked open, the lights on. And there were…sounds. Strange sounds.

Nacho probably should have left it alone. But he was still half drunk, and curious, and so he crept down the hall. His breathing became shallow as he pushed open the door.

Marco and Leonel were on the bed, naked, in the sixty-nine position, sucking each other’s dicks. Nacho froze, staring in stunned silence. Then he quietly pulled the door closed and headed downstairs.

He found Lalo in the living room, sitting with his feet up as he watched TV and ate ice cream. He seemed to have sobered a little, too. Nacho sat beside him and stared at the TV, although he didn’t really process whatever was on. He couldn’t get the image of the twins out of his head.

Lalo nudged him with his foot. “ _Que pasa_?”

“Marco and Leonel are upstairs sucking each other’s dicks.”

Lalo ate a spoonful of ice cream. “Yeah, they do that sometimes.”

Nacho stared at him. “And you’re okay with that?”

“Come on, Nacho—be sensible. Who else is going to fuck them? They’re terrifying! Don’t get me wrong, they’re good boys, but—” Lalo shivered. “Besides, it’s not like they can make any babies. So what’s the harm?”

Did Nacho really have to explain incest was wrong? “The harm is that they’re brothers, and it’s creepy as shit to fuck your brother.”

“ _Si,_ _lo sé_.” Lalo licked his spoon. “But they keep my business quiet, so I return the favor. Don’t be such a prude.”

Nacho rubbed his face. _You have Salamanca blood_ , Marco had said. Shit—had that been a come-on?

 _Fuck this sober shit._ He stood up.

“Where are you going?” Lalo asked.

“To get a drink.”

Nacho went to the liquor cabinet and mixed up a rum and coke. He had another one, and almost poured a third, but getting blackout drunk was a really stupid idea. It was all stupid. He used to be so smug at how much smarter he was than everyone around him, but that had just been pride. He didn’t have a lot of that anymore.

He stumbled into the living room. Lalo had fallen asleep on the couch. Nacho sat down beside him, his mind swimming. He touched Lalo’s cheek. What was that old tale about the scorpion and the frog? The frog gives the scorpion a ride across the river, but the scorpion stings him before they reach the other shore, causing them both to drown.

But there were no frogs in their story. They were both scorpions, destined to betray each other. Because Salamancas fucked with Nacho, but he fucked with them right back. Tuco, Hector…it was just a matter of time before he betrayed Lalo. Maybe it was better to get it over with.

“Why did you have to bring up my dad?” Nacho asked quietly. He only got a snore in response.

Nacho weaved his way upstairs. The extra drinks were really hitting him now, making everything around him blur. Once he reached the top of the stairs, he could either go right to his and Lalo’s room (no, not _his_ room, just Lalo’s), or left to the cousins’.

He went left.

He wasn’t terribly surprised when Marco met him at the door, still nude, his cock hard. Marco brushed his hand over Nacho’s shoulder, bare now, and then his side. His touch was gentle—how could a killer’s hands be so tender? Nacho shut his eyes and sighed. Marco put his other hand around Nacho’s waist and drew him inside, and shut the door behind him.

Nacho allowed himself to be led to the bed, where Leonel was waiting. Marco kissed him as he fell backward into Leonel’s open arms, which wrapped around him as Leonel’s lips brushed the nape of his neck. Marco slid Nacho’s sweatpants and underwear off. Leonel’s cock rubbed against Nacho’s ass as Marco coaxed Nacho to full arousal.

The three of them fell into bed together, Leonel behind him and Marco in front, kissing him on the mouth, their tongues dueling. Marco moved down and gently worried Nacho’s nipple with his teeth. Nacho threw his head back and moaned, and then he was being kissed again, but by Leonel this time. Leonel’s cock ground into him, rubbing along the crack of his ass.

Their hands were everywhere, running over his body, his cock, his ass. Two mouths kissed him, licked him, tasted him. No matter which way he turned he couldn’t escape. He didn’t want to. Being held by them felt so strangely safe.

The twins switched positions, and now Marco was behind him, Leonel in front. Leonel moved down his body and took Nacho’s cock in his mouth. At the same time, a wet finger pushed inside him. Nacho moaned. One finger became two, and then the bare head of Marco’s cock pressed against him.

They should get a condom. But then, he already had Marco’s blood in him, so what did it matter? Marco pressed forward, breaching him, just as Leonel’s mouth took him in all the way to the root, perfectly coordinated. Pleasure shattered him, obliterating what little thought he had left. He surged forward into Leonel’s mouth, rocked back onto Marco’s cock, faster and faster. Marco mouthed at his neck as he fucked him, his hands running up and down his body again, stopping at the scar, caressing it.

Marco moved his hand up and covered Nacho’s mouth. “ _Correte por mi, hermano_ ,” Marco whispered in his ear.

Nacho exploded, Marco’s hand muffling his scream. Marco grunted and thrust forward, holding himself deep inside Nacho as his own orgasm rolled through him. Leonel pulled off Nacho’s cock and moved upward, pressing his lips to Nacho’s, feeding him his own come as he stroked himself. Soon his orgasm splashed on Nacho’s stomach.

Nacho reeled; the world was a blur. The cousins took care of him, just as they had the day they pulled him out of the desert, their hands carefully cleaning him, comforting him. He found himself tucked into bed between them as his mind flickered out of consciousness. A small piece of his mind was screaming at the top of its lungs that it wasn’t too late to get the fuck out of there, just get up and run, but where would he run to? There was nowhere to go.

He’d made his bed, and now he’d lie in it.


	2. Chapter 2

Nacho dreamed of darkness and warmth, of burning buildings, of expensive cars travelling steep, rocky roads. When he woke at last, there was no disorientation. He remembered everything. Marco was curled up behind him, Leonel in front. He wondered which would win out when Lalo found them—his obsession with Nacho, or his family loyalty.

He didn’t have much time to think about it because the door creaked open. Light from the hallway fell onto the bed and Marco and Leonel stirred. Nacho sat up, his heart pounding as he clutched the sheet. This was it. He had lit the fuse to blow up his life, and now it was time for the detonation.

Lalo stood in the doorway for a long moment, a dark outline surrounded by light. One heartbeat passed, then two, and then—

“You boys want breakfast?”

Marco sat up and grunted in the affirmative. Leonel stretched. No one was acting like any of this was weird. _What the fuck?_

Lalo met Nacho’s gaze at last and raised his eyebrows. “You look like you could use a shower, Ignacio.” He drummed his fingers on the door. “See you downstairs.” And then he was gone.

Nacho’s breath came in heaves. Clearly Lalo was trying to lull them into a false sense of security before he exacted his revenge. But that didn’t explain the cousins’ non-reaction to Lalo finding them all in bed. Even if Marco and Leonel didn’t know about Nacho and Lalo, it was still pretty fucking weird for them to be so blasé about the whole thing. Marco even gave Nacho’s shoulder a kiss before heading to the bathroom.

Nacho gathered his sweatpants and underwear before heading down the hall to the en suite bathroom in Lalo’s room, since Marco had taken the other bathroom. It was where all his clothes were, anyway. He turned on the tap and waited for it to get hot. He felt like shit—he had a pounding headache, his stomach was sour, and he was sticky everywhere. The cousins had wiped him down when they were through with him, but not thoroughly. His cheeks heated as the memories of how he had gotten that sticky flashed through his mind—his own come dribbling down his face after Leonel fed it to him, the hot spray of Leonel’s orgasm against his stomach. And the crustiness between his thighs—Christ, had he really let Marco come inside him?

He got in the shower. As he stood under the hot spray, he tried to piece together what, exactly, was going on. _You’re Lalo’s man now_ , Marco had said. That’s what kicked off his—well, calling it flirtation was stretching it, but Marco had never shown any interest in him before. Clearly, he had not meant “Lalo’s lieutenant” with that comment. No, he knew. And that knowledge made him think that he and his brother could take Nacho to bed.

And then there was Lalo. _We share everything_ , he’d said when Nacho asked about how the cousins had gotten in. Nacho’s stomach clenched. Was he like the house—a fucking resource any Salamanca could make use of? Did they share men in the past?

He stayed in the shower until the water started to cool. After getting dressed in sweats and a T, he headed downstairs. The cousins, already in their suits, sat at the kitchen table, eating pancakes. Lalo was in front of the stove, making more.

“There he is,” Lalo said when he caught sight of Nacho. “I was starting to think I was going to have to come get you.” He gestured with his spatula at the breakfast bar. “Come, sit.”

Slowly, Nacho eased onto the barstool. Lalo’s tone remained mild, but he wasn’t his usual cheerily demented self, either.

“You hungry?” Lalo asked.

Nacho swallowed. “No.”

Lalo removed a pancake from the pan and set it on a plate. “I’m not surprised. I think you overdid it last night.” He met Nacho’s gaze. Something flashed there, but Nacho couldn’t tell what. “Some coffee, maybe?”

When Nacho shook his head, Lalo pursed his lips, but didn’t press.

The cousins finished their breakfast and approached the breakfast bar. Marco laid a hand on Nacho’s shoulder and addressed Lalo. “ _Gracias por tu hospitalidad, primo_.”

“ _De nada_ ,” Lalo replied. “You boys heading out?” When Marco nodded, Lalo smiled. “Always good to see you. I hope business goes well.”

Nacho remained hunched on his stool as Lalo saw the cousins out. Lalo gathered the dishes from the table and brought them in to wash. He didn’t even look at Nacho.

“So am I part of the hospitality package at Hotel Salamanca?” Nacho asked.

Lalo slammed the dishes down by the sink. “You tell me, Ignacio. I didn’t have much to do with it.”

Still so mild—nothing like the explosion he’d expected. He itched for the confrontation. “So that’s it, then? You don’t have anything to say?”

Lalo turned around. “If you are asking if I’m happy you got drunk and fucked my cousins, then the answer is no—I am not happy at all. But what’s done is done.” He returned to his dishes.

Nacho’s jaw clenched. “And we’ll just sweep this under rug, huh?”

“You expected something else?” His tone remained infuriatingly mild.

Nacho didn’t answer. Lalo finished washing the dishes and approached Nacho at last. “Is that why you did it?” he asked lowly. “To provoke a reaction? I’m not going to reward your misbehavior by giving it to you.”

He should have been relieved, but instead he seethed. He had prepared himself for a confrontation, and now Lalo didn’t want to give him one?

Fuck what he wanted. Nacho crossed his arms and looked Lalo dead in the eye. “I let Marco come in me.”

 _That_ did it. Fire sparked in Lalo’s eyes. He grabbed Nacho by the shirt and yanked him from his stool, then hauled him across the room and slammed him into a wall. Nacho’s head cracked against it with an audible thud. “I don’t like this game, Ignacio,” he growled.

A wave of sick satisfaction rolled through him. This was it. Detonation time. “I fucked Tuco, too,” Nacho said. “I can’t believe you bought that ‘only you’ shit. You’re such an easy mark, _mi amor_.” The last words came out as a sneer.

It was a ridiculous lie, but real hurt shone in Lalo’s eyes. He took a few steps back, his nostrils flaring as he sucked in air. Then he backhanded Nacho across the face.

Pain blossomed on his cheek as he reeled from the impact. This is what had been hanging over them ever since their first time together—the threat of what Lalo might do. It was like lancing a festering wound—it hurt, but it was a relief to get rid of the pressure. They’d have it out now, one way or the other. Nacho wiped his lip—a little blood came away from where his teeth had torn his lip. “That all you got?”

Lalo hit him again and spun him around, slamming his face against the wall. He yanked his sweats down and kicked open his legs. “You want me to put you in your place, _puta_?” Lalo snarled. “Remind you who you belong to?” He undid his zipper and spat in his hand.

Lalo shoved his cock inside him roughly. Nacho gasped at how much it hurt—Lalo was so good at preparing him usually that he hadn’t appreciated just how fucking big he was. Lalo bit his neck as he fucked him, so hard that it would bruise, or maybe even break the skin.

And in spite of all the pain—hell, maybe because of it—Nacho’s own dick swelled as Lalo battered away at him. Tears sprang to his eyes and rolled down his cheeks. He just wanted to be fucked apart, have this all be over—all the uncertainty and dread, the pain and the worry. The horrible things he’d done, and would do. He deserved this, deserved it—

“ _Tú eres mío!_ ” Lalo bit his ear lobe. “You don’t let another man touch you!”

“And if I do, what’ll you do next?” Nacho nearly screamed. “Go after my dad?”

All at once, Lalo stopped. “Your _dad_?” he asked. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Nacho didn’t respond. His heart beat so wildly he thought it might burst.

Lalo pulled out of him and turned him around. They looked at each other for a long moment, both of their chests heaving. “I think we need to have a talk,” Lalo said at last. He sounded more tired than angry now. He tucked himself back into his pants and helped Nacho pull up his sweats. Then he took his hand and led him to the living room.

They sat on the sofa. Nacho’s stomach churned as Lalo gathered his thoughts. “Now what is all this about your papa?”

“I won’t let you bring him in the game. He’s an honest man.”

Lalo looked bewildered. “Who said anything about bringing him in the game?”

Now Nacho felt confused, too. “You aren’t? Then why did you say that stuff last night?”

“What stuff? That I was sad you were estranged from your family?”

“No, you said you would fix things with my dad. What did you mean?”

Lalo threw his hands up. “How should I know? I was drunk!”

“Oh.” Nacho’s voice was small.

Lalo rubbed his forehead. “So you thought I was suggesting using your father’s business as part of cartel operations, and instead of asking me if that’s what I meant, you fucked my cousins? _Dios mío_ , Ignacio—we need to work on our communication skills. How did you even get that idea into your head in the first place?”

When Nacho didn’t answer, Lalo supplied one of his own. “Tio Hector. He suggested it, didn’t he?”

Nacho held his breath. This was it, when it would all come out. Only a matter of time before he put together the pieces, figure out that Nacho had switched Hector’s meds—

“I am not my uncle,” Lalo continued. “Dragging unwilling people into business is a bad idea—you can never trust them. I will not recruit your papa.” He brushed his hand over Nacho’s cheek and tutted. “That’s going to bruise. And your lip!” He kissed him gently, his tongue flicking at the cut. “Let’s not play this game again, _amorcito_.”

Nacho blinked rapidly. He was still _amorcito_?

Lalo stood up and encouraged Nacho to stand as well. “Why don’t you go upstairs and get in bed? I’ll get you an ice pack.”

Nacho numbly returned upstairs. Lalo hadn’t thought it through yet, but he was smart. He’d figure it out eventually, wouldn’t he? And then he’d kill Nacho and probably his dad, too, he’d—

His mind tried to take off along its usual rumination road, but it stumbled.

He got into bed and stared up at the ceiling. He was exhausted, as if he’d just run a hundred miles. His head pounded, his cheek hurt, and his ass was sore. But something was blooming inside him—too fragile yet for him to examine.

Lalo came into the room, a big bottle of Gatorade crooked in one arm, an ice pack under his armpit, and a plate of pancakes in the other. He set the plate and the Gatorade on the nightstand and crawled into bed. “Poor Nachito,” he said, pulling Nacho into a sitting position and putting the ice pack on his cheek. “What am I going to do with you?”

Nacho didn’t answer. Lalo took the Gatorade and handed it to Nacho. “Drink up—you’re probably dehydrated. You want a Tylenol?”

Nacho took a long drink and then shook his head. “No. I’ve had worse.”

“Pancakes, then.” Lalo picked up the plate and gathered a forkful. He held it out to Nacho—he wanted to feed him?

Nacho obediently took a bite. Lalo got another one ready. His eyes were soft, adoring.

As Lalo fed him, Nacho tried to imagine Fring making good with his threat to expose him. He’d call Lalo in on some cartel business, and then, what? Whip out a medical report showing that Hector didn’t have the right medicine in his system? Fring would explain what that meant—that the meds much have been switched, and Nacho must have been the one to do it.

Seemed like pretty weak evidence. Medical reports could be faked. And honestly, the whole scheme was pretty far-fetched to begin with. And who was Lalo going to believe—a man he despised, or his beloved Nachito?

Nacho flashed back to that day at the restaurant when Lalo got on his knees and gave Nacho a lesson in power. _Power is_ _the ability to dictate reality_ , he’d said.

Which left Fring’s threats to his dad.

Nacho waited until the pancakes were finished and Lalo had set the plate aside. “I’m sorry,” he said. He set the ice pack down and curled up to Lalo, who put an arm around him. “My dad is a sore spot. I had to push him away, to keep him safe. I don’t want any of this drug shit to hurt him, you know? He’s everything to me.”

“ _Si, familia lo es todo,_ ” Lalo agreed. “If you’re so worried, I can protect him, no problem.”

He almost laughed. His dad wasn’t out of the woods yet, but it was a start. “Thanks.” He sat up a little. “That was really weird with your cousins. Why did they think you’d be okay with me sleeping with them, if they knew I was yours?”

Lalo blew out a breath. “Well, in the past, we have shared. However, had they asked, I would have explained that you were special.”

Nacho pulled away and crossed his arms. “Am I? Or are you just going to throw me out when you’re done with me?”

Lalo rolled his eyes. “Of course not. Don’t be dramatic.”

Nacho pushed him back on the bed and straddled him. “Prove it.” He ground his ass into Lalo’s crotch.

Lalo’s eyebrows shot up. “Aren’t you sore?”

“I don’t care. I want you inside me.”

Lalo sucked in a breath and chuckled. “If you insist.”

Nacho got the lube out of the nightstand. He didn’t bother with the condom. Lalo plucked the tube out of his hand and flipped him onto his back. “Let me take care of you,” he purred.

Lalo prepared him slowly, reverently. It still hurt, but Nacho could take it. And when Lalo eased inside him, the pain mixed with pleasure. It was hard to imagine one without the other anymore. He let Lalo set a gentle pace, easing him into it, before he pushed Lalo back and straddled him.

Lalo’s hands fell on Nacho’s hips. “ _Cuidado, mi amor_ ,” he murmured. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

Nacho rocked his hips. “Why do you care? You’re just going to get rid of me eventually anyway, right?”

Lalo looked confused. “ _Por supuesto no_. What’s gotten into you?”

Nacho sped up his thrusts. “You don’t care if I live or die. I’m just a toy to you!”

“No!” Lalo shook his head and groaned. “That’s not true.”

“Liar,” he panted. “If someone came after me, you wouldn’t lift a finger to save me.”

“No, no!” Lalo insisted. “I would never let anyone hurt you, never!”

Nacho stopped moving. “How many men have you promised that?”

Lalo moaned in frustration and put his hands on his hips, trying to get him to move. “ _Sólo tu, amoricto_ —only you!”

Nacho almost laughed as he started to ride him again, harder and harder, chasing his pleasure. He threw his head back and came with a shot. Lalo hips stuttered upward as he found his orgasm, too, coming deep inside him.

Nacho rolled off of him and collapsed on the bed, sucking in deep breaths. Lalo’s come dribbled out of him, wetting his thighs. When Lalo had caught his breath, he rolled over and captured Nacho’s mouth in a kiss. “I mean that, you know,” he said quietly. “There’s been no one like you.”

Nacho met his gaze. “ _Lo sé, mi amor_.”

When Lalo kissed him again, the fragile little feeling inside him bloomed wider.

It felt like power.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the next fic will definitely be the last in this series. It will be called "Myself Am Hell" and will probably be three or four chapters long. 
> 
> As I write this, I'm biting my nails over Nacho's possible fate in the finale, so I just want to let you all know at this end of my series, Nacho is totally and 100% alive. Lalo, too. So no worries!


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